Ripples beat the shore of the river he loves
As he waits for instructions from above
So cold is this summer night
Filled with doubt and delight
These forests hold no sanctity
And deeply he holds this reverence for thee
Held under some spell
Is it spirit, vapor... He cannot tell
Confessing all the secret things to fire and rocks
He begins to damn time, to damn thoughts
Of dream and sleep
Like a thief, its you he seeks
Time is a game
Time is a myth
Space is irrevelent
Longing for darkness to quit
Like soil to rivers he's quick
Words from others are venom spit
Because deeply he needs
An Arizona sunrise he pleads
For now Idaho is all he knows
For him Idaho is all that flows
Through vines mixed in culture
But circling like a vulture
He ponders anything, to him, that draws him closer
